


It wasn't your fault

by BlaiddGwyn (dragonLeighs)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Injury, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Torture, tbh it's actually pretty soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonLeighs/pseuds/BlaiddGwyn
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer storm a ruined castle to rescue Jaskier from Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt looks back at how they came to this point and how important his little family has become to him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 172





	It wasn't your fault

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this at 2am and I don't really know where I was going with it. The structure is a bit weird but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Vaguely based on this [post](https://trope-appreciation-tuesdays.tumblr.com/post/614143948378849280/tat-unexplained-blood-with-no-wound-the-whumpee) before it got out of hand.

Geralt kicked down the door, sword swinging at the first soldier to charge at him. Within moments they’d all been cut down. The witcher scanned his eyes across the dark, damp room. There was something off about it, but he didn’t know what. Stepping further in, he quickly cast igni to light a torch to better see. The back wall seemed to emanate a strange energy. Moving closer to investigate his medallion began to vibrate. An illusion.

He went to place a hand on the wall, finding it went straight through. He stepped across the barrier and found himself in a narrow passageway leading to a set of steps leading further down into the crumbling ruins. The smell of blood, both old and new, was almost overwhelming. Adding to the stench was the smell of damp and dirt. It was almost too much for the witcher’s heightened senses but beneath it all he could just about pick out the familiar scent of Jaskier, spurring him on.

He dropped the torch, relying on his enhanced sight to see the way, not wanting to alert any remaining soldiers of his presence. Sword held ready, he made his way down. He followed the scent of the bard through the winding corridors, hoping it would lead him in the right direction. He could pick up snippets of conversation from soldiers guarding various rooms. He made short work of them, killing them as efficiently as possible so as to attract as little attention as possible.

Suddenly he heard a scream followed by a door slamming shut. He followed the sound, coming face to face with the Nilfgaardian mage. She began summoning a portal and before he could reach her, she disappeared.

Instead Geralt went to the door she had just closed. He tried to open it but found it was locked. He took a step back before kicking the wooden door down. Once inside he found Jaskier lying on the ground.

At a first glance he seemed unharmed. Then he noticed the coppery smell of fresh blood in the room and the growing pool of blood beneath him. The bard seemed to be struggling with staying awake, gasping in pain. 

“Geralt, she…” he managed to groan out, struggling to catch his breath. “Stabbed…” he managed before losing consciousness. Geralt dropped his sword and knelt by his side, uncaring for the blood soaking into his trousers. He frantically searched Jaskier’s body for any sign of injury, a task made much harder by the way his wrists had been shackled in front of him. After thoroughly searching all over his body he found nothing. The mage must have hidden all of his wounds with magic.

If he couldn’t find the stab wound soon, Jaskier was sure to bleed out and die. “Yen!” he shouted down the passageway. He didn’t have time to go and find her and he refused to let Jaskier die alone. “Yen I found him! He needs help!” He could only hope she was within earshot.

Shortly after he heard the distinct sound of her heels on the stone floor. When she rounded the corner and saw Jaskier lying on the floor she sped up. “What’s wrong with him?”  
“He’s been stabbed but the injury is hidden.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, holding her hands above Jaskier’s body. Geralt felt the chaos flow from her and suddenly Jaskier’s skin was covered in bruises and cuts, uncovered from the illusion that had been placed on him.

Quickly Geralt located the stab wound. It was in his side just below his ribs. It wasn’t too deep, but it was bleeding heavily. “Let me,” Yennefer said, leaving no room for argument.  
She wasn’t the best at healing magic, but she knew enough. She placed a hand on the bleeding gash and concentrated, convincing his flesh to stop bleeding out. Slowly the edges of the wound scabbed over although it didn’t close. Once she was sure he wasn’t about to bleed out Yennefer cut off the flow of chaos and removed her hand, drained from the effort.

Now that his life was no longer in immediate danger, Geralt took the time to look over the rest of his injuries. His skin was littered in bruises and small cuts. He was pretty sure by the way he was breathing he had at least a few broken ribs. His left wrist was bent at an odd angle beneath the shackles and Geralt suspected that was broken too.

“We need to get out of here before more soldiers turn up,” Yennefer said, standing up straight. Carefully Geralt picked up the bard, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back. He held him close to his chest so as not to jostle him too much. Yennefer retrieved the witcher’s sword from the floor as Geralt could no longer wield it.

“I can’t portal us out of here. Fringilla must have put up some wards to prevent anyone getting in or out except her.” Yennefer lead the way out of the small room. They encountered only a few more soldiers which Yennefer quickly dealt with before they were outside. They ran until Yennefer felt the wards give way. She conjured a portal and they were outside Yen’s house, something she had acquired a few years ago from a witless lord.

Ciri came running out of the door before either Geralt or Yennefer had really recovered from the portal. “Geralt! Is he okay?” she said, a hint of fear colouring her words. They must look awful, the three of them covered in blood and tired from the fighting.

“We need to get him inside,” was all he said.

“Wait,” Yennefer said. She placed a hand over the shackles still over Jaskier’s wrists. They fell away to the dirt with a thud.

He moved quickly, taking the bard inside to the room he had chosen as his own before he was kidnapped. The witcher carefully placed him on the bed, mindful of the injuries he knew of. Ciri stood next to him, looking at Jaskier’s face for the first time since they had reappeared. She took in a horrified gasp.

“Why don’t you go help Yennefer prepare some herbs,” he suggested. He didn’t really want her seeing the bard in this state. She was only a child, something he had to remind himself of often as she so often acted so much older than she actually was.

She hurried out of the room to the kitchen where he knew Yennefer would be gathering medical supplies for the bard while Geralt stripped him of his ruined clothes, bloodied and dirty, before covering him with a blanket.

It had taken some time but the mage and Jaskier had eventually become friends, their barbed remarks about each other gradually turning to fond taunts. These days more often than not they would gang up against Geralt about the smallest things like the state of his clothes or his lack of words.

It warmed him to see them come together, even if it meant he was often the butt of the joke. It was good for Ciri too as Geralt was hardly qualified to look after a child.  
The first few weeks she had been quiet and withdrawn into herself. Geralt had no idea how to cheer her up so he simply stayed quiet.

It wasn’t until they had accidentally run into Jaskier a couple of months later that she’d begun to open up a little. The bard had been playing his usual bawdy songs when they entered an inn. He spotted them immediately but, like a true professional, he didn’t miss a beat, despite his surprise at seeing them. Once he finished his song he came up to their table and greeted Ciri. She jumped up and hugged him, much to Geralt’s surprise.

Jaskier explained he had been to Cintra every winter while they were separate for the winter to check up on her on the witcher’s behalf. He had agreed to travel with them, for Ciri’s sake. The witcher had wanted to apologise for what happened on the mountain, but he didn’t know how so he said nothing.

It took Ciri practically commanding him to have an honest conversation with the bard. There had been a few raised voices but Jaskier had accepted his apology after Geralt managed to use his words and actually say how sorry he was for how he had treated him, not just on the mountain but for all the times in the past two decades that he had treated him unfairly.

Yennefer came into the room holding various herbs and potions as well as a roll of clean bandages. Ciri came trailing after with a large bowl of water and a few rags. Everything was set down next to the bed ready for use.

“Ciri, I don’t think you should be in the room for this,” Yennefer explained gently. The young princess was always ready to help but there was little she could do here, and Yennefer didn’t want her to see the mess Jaskier’s body had become.

“I want to help,” she replied, steel in her voice.

“There’s nothing you can do for him right now and he’s in a bad way. We’ll let you know when you can come see him.” She levelled her with a stern violet gaze. After a moment Ciri conceded defeat. She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her after one last glance back at the bard.

Once she was gone, Geralt pulled back the blanket he’d used to cover the bard and grabbed a rag. Dipping it in the warm water he began wiping away the worst of the dirt and grime. Yennefer did the same with a second rag. They worked in silence, neither knowing what to say.

Once Jaskier was clean, all of his injuries could be seen. There was very little of his skin which was clear of any bruises. There was a worryingly dark patch on his ribs, presumably where they had broken. Yennefer examined the area and determined that, despite having three cracked ribs, there were no other internal injuries.

Next came the scabbed over stab wound. It didn’t appear as though anything vital had been injured internally as the wound was fairly shallow. It must have hit an artery for it to bleed so much. Yennefer expertly stitched it up, applying a thick layer of salve to help speed up healing and reduce the chance of infection.

While Yennefer worked, Geralt examined Jaskier’s wrists. They were rubbed raw and as suspected his left wrist had been broken. He carefully set the bone and searched through their supplies to find something to use as a splint. He applied a layer of salve to the raw skin before securing the splint in place with a bandage, wrapped tightly to make sure it didn’t slip out of place. He applied some salve to the other wrist before bandaging that too.

He helped Yennefer bandage his chest once she had finished stitching the stab wound. They both took some salve and applied it gently to the bard’s abused skin to speed up the healing of the bruises.

Satisfied, Geralt retrieved a loose shirt and trousers and carefully dressed the bard before pulling the blanket back over him. Yennefer poured a potion into his mouth, massaging his throat to encourage him to swallow.

“He needs rest now. When he wakes, he’ll need food and water,” Yennefer seemed calm as ever, but he could detect the subtle lines of worry on her face.

“He’ll be fine Yen. He’s got you looking after him.” Geralt moved to crouch next to where she was sitting, placing his hand over hers.

She shook her head. “I failed him. That’s why he’s in this situation.”

They had found Yennefer in a village not far from Novigrad last autumn. They had been travelling south, not wanting to stay in the same place for too long for fear of being found and looking for a good enough place to stop for the winter before the snow came.

She had been understandably angry at Geralt but took pity on Ciri. After learning about her gifts she had offered to train her to control it, something which Ciri ad gratefully accepted. They had moved to Yennefer’s house further south and stayed for the winter. It was during this time that she and Jaskier had become friends, finding that they actually had a very similar sense of humour. They liked the challenge of one-upping the other and had their own inside jokes which Geralt often found made no sense but they enjoyed immensely. Perhaps precisely because he didn’t understand.

He often found himself reeling from the fact that he had people who were dearly important to him and that they all needed him in one way or another. A year ago he would have laughed at the mere idea but now he didn’t think he would be able to live without any of them.

It was just over a week ago that Jaskier and Yennefer had gone through a portal to gather supplies in a town relatively far away so as not to be tracked back to the house. Yennefer had returned alone, injured and exhausted. She explained they had been attacked by Nilfgaardian scouts who had heard rumours of their presence. She had tried to fight them off, but they had taken Jaskier prisoner while she barely escaped after he yelled at her to run. The guilt had been eating away at her ever since, barely giving herself a moment of rest.

“Yen, you did your best. You couldn’t have fought them all off even if you had been expecting them. You did the best you could. You got back here and warned us, and we found him. He’s safe and he’ll recover. He’s stronger than he looks. Trust me, I know.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

She nodded her head slightly, her eyes remaining fixed on Jaskier’s face. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go.” She paused, taking a steadying breath before rising to her feet. Geralt stood with her. “We should get Ciri. She’ll be worried.”

Geralt hummed in response, heading to the door. Once in the hallway Yennefer went to Ciri’s room while Geralt made his way to his room to change out of his bloody clothes before going to the kitchen to make some food. He was joined much later by Yen and Ciri to whom he handed steaming bowls of stew.

They sat at the small table in the kitchen rather than in the main dining room. It was dark by the time they had finished and Geralt announced he was going to check on Jaskier. Yennefer handed him a pitcher of water and some stew. Ciri went to follow but Yen wanted her for something before she disappeared.

He found Jaskier half awake, propped up on a pile of pillows Ciri and Yennefer had presumably made. He greeted him with a tired smile. “I didn’t tell them anything,” he said, words slurred slightly with exhaustion but clearly proud of himself.

“I never doubted it,” he replied with a rare, albeit small smile. The bard may be well known for talking endlessly but he was loyal to a fault.

“Jas, you’re awake!” Ciri bounded up to his bedside excitedly from behind the witcher. He raised a hand and gently stroked her hair with his broken wrist.

“Hello, little lion cub,” he said, clearly still exhausted. Ciri beamed at hearing the nickname.

“Yen made you a potion. She told me to make sure you drank it,” she said.

“I’ve also got you water and stew,” Geralt added.

Jaskier hummed his appreciation, too tired to form proper words. Geralt poured him a mug of water from the pitcher. He helped him sit up slightly and held the mug so he didn’t spill any. Geralt had to stop him from drinking too quickly to make sure he didn’t make himself sick. “Careful, you don’t want to make yourself feel worse.”

Ciri climbed on the other side of the bed and sat next to Jaskier, leg pressed gently against his own. It was a small comfort, but it was greatly appreciated.

“You should have some food, then you can have more water,” Geralt said as the mug was drained.

He had to hold the bowl but Jaskier managed with the spoon by himself. He ate just under half before exhaustion began to take hold again. As promised, Geralt helped him with a second mug of water before Ciri reminded him to take the potion too. Jaskier pulled a face at the taste but swiftly fell into a restful sleep.

As Geralt gathered the bowl and empty pitcher, Ciri took Jaskier’s less injured hand in hers. She was watching the sleeping bard’s face, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. He was sure she would fight off the bard’s nightmares if she could.

He decided to leave her alone with Jaskier for a bit, letting her take in the fact that he would be alright now and he was safe. He made his way back to the kitchen and found Yen sitting at the table with an almost empty goblet of wine, a somewhat vacant look in her eyes.

“He was awake. Managed a bit of the stew and some water,” he said.

“How is he? Did he take the potion?” she asked, attention snapping back to the present.

“Yes, he took it. He seemed exhausted, didn’t really say anything but I think he’ll be fine after some rest.”

“Good,” the vacant look had returned to her eyes.

“Yen, you should get some sleep. You haven’t rested in days.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking. If I had been more alert, faster to react, I could have got him out of there in time. It’s my fault he’s hurt.”

“Yen, you know as well as I do that he’s a self-sacrificing idiot. He probably made sure you could get away to warn us, even if it meant his capture. He knew you would come back for him. And you did.”

She didn’t say anything to that, simply tracing the grain of the wood with her eyes. “At least go and lie down. You’re exhausted.”

At that she nodded, draining the last of her wine before standing. She left the kitchen and made her way to her room, stopping at Jaskier’s door to peek in. She saw Ciri on the bed, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand as she held it. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully and something in her chest finally relaxed, allowing herself to believe he’ll be okay.

As soon as she closed the door to her room behind her she felt the fatigue of the past few days finally catch up to her. She managed to kick off her boots before collapsing on her bed and falling into a deep sleep.

Geralt lingered in the kitchen for a long time, not really knowing what to do with himself. He wasn’t tired but there wasn’t anything for him to do. He went outside to check on Roach. He knew she was comfortable, the stables were large and had plenty of hay but he was used to spending most of his time around her.

“Hey Roach,” he greeted as he entered her stall. She nudged his chest with her head, likely looking for a treat. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you. Maybe tomorrow.” He stroked her mane, finding her presence was enough to settle the restless energy he felt. “We got him back. They tortured him to try and find out where we are. He didn’t tell them anything of course. I wish he had some sense of self-preservation instead of risking his life constantly. He could’ve run away but instead he got captured so Yen could get back here.”

The bard had put himself in some pretty dangerous situations over the years, rushing into a fight to save Geralt more often than he cared to remember. He was grateful but he couldn’t help the fear he felt as he saw his bard rushing into danger. His emotions more often than not translated into angry words, shouting at Jaskier to not get in his way when he really wanted to thank him for saving his life. So many times he could’ve been killed and yet he kept doing it. Because he wanted to help, regardless of the peril he placed himself in.

It hadn’t surprised him when Yennefer had told him Jaskier had tried to start a fight. Yen had initially tried to fight them with her chaos but one of them had exposed her to dimeritium. Not enough to completely block her abilities but enough so that she couldn’t fight all of them.

Jaskier had started fighting then. The scouts hadn’t appeared to be armed at the time and years of experience in bar fights meant Jaskier had some unexpected talents when it came to brawling. Yennefer had tried her best and Jaskier managed to knock two of the Nilfgaardians out before one of them pulled out a sword.

He swiped at Yennefer and Jaskier had jumped on his back to throw him off balance. The blade missed its mark and at that point Jaskier had shouted at Yen to run. He’d been smacked in the face by an elbow, knocking him to the ground as Yen stood frozen. He’d shouted at her to go once more before she fled.

She had opened a portal for Geralt a few hours later for him to go back and try to find the bard but there was no sign of him except for a few blood spatters on the ground. He had tried tracking the scent of blood but found it ended abruptly not far into the surrounding forest. When he told Yennefer, she suspected Fringilla had created a portal through which they had escaped.

Since then she had been trying every tracking spell she could think of but Fringilla’s wards prevented Jaskier from being found. It wasn’t until she came across an old scrying ritual that she managed to see him. That alone hadn’t been enough but with her own twist of combining spells she had found a way to bypass the wards surrounding him and find his location.

Geralt had tried to get him to carry a weapon before, even went as far as buying him an ornate dagger to keep on himself at all times. However, he had little experience in using it and whenever the witcher tried to teach him it always ended in near disaster. After a while he gave up but made him promise to keep it on himself at all times. To his credit he always kept it hidden in his boot but he often forgot about it.

“I’ll have to give him more lessons with that dagger. I can try teaching him with Ciri. They should both be able to defend themselves.” With another pat to her neck he bid the mare goodnight and went back to the house.

On his way back to his room he stopped by Jaskier’s room. Ciri was curled up next to the sleeping bard, hand still holding his hand. It was times like these that he was forcefully reminded she was still only a child. She looked so small and peaceful, despite the horrors her life had been filled with just over a year ago. He quietly entered the room and covered her with a spare blanket, brushing a strand of hair off her face.

Heading back to his own room he found himself dropping tension from his muscles he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Everyone in his little cobbled together family was safe. Jaskier was back and he would heal with time. The rest of them could sleep easier knowing where he was, that he would be okay.

Geralt lay on his bed, aiming to meditate until sunrise but found himself drifting to sleep. He must have been more tired than he thought but welcomed the empty blankness he had been deprived of for the past week.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://blaidd-gwyn.tumblr.com/)


End file.
